Stories and tidbits about the history of Upper (Present Day) California and Lower (Baja) California. The men – and women – who carved civilization out of wilderness.

Father Serra - Missionary

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Sunday, April 9, 2017

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE- THE MISSIONS WITHER

1830
– Misión San Gabriel – A Glorious Success

They
followed Riachuelo
San Juan
to where the canyon split, turning to following the King's Highway up
the left-hand arm. Trees grew in profusion along the bottom land,
huge live oaks of both kinds, along with laurels and others. The
hillsides showed signs of recent brush fires, nature's way of
cleaning up and healing the land.

Moving
at a gentle lope, they carefully scanned the
land
around them. The hillsides
provided a number of places where unwanted people could hide and the
corporal at the mission had warned them that solitary travelers had
been attacked in the past.

Some
of the bridges and arroyos
lacked regular maintenance, many
of them washed out by past rains.

They
did not stop for the midday meal, eating in the saddle from food
Teresa had put into their saddlebags. Water from their cantinas
washed it down.

“To
pass this way you must pay a toll.”

Teresa
had noted the group on the hillside ahead sitting in the shade of a
huge live oak tree. As they neared, one of them went to his horse and
mounted, riding at a walk down to the highway. The others stayed
where
they were,
but all picked up pistols and muskets.

“And
why would that be, amigo?
This
is the highway of the government of Mexico and you do not appear to
be soldiers in its service.”

The
highwayman scowled and then glared. “You will pay as you are but
two and we are more than you.”

“And
if we do not pay?”

“Why
then we shall take your animals and weapons and leave you here to
make your way on foot.”

“I
am afraid, amigo,
that will not happen. We will go on our way and perhaps some other
unwary travelers will fall to your unjust demands.”

A
shot suddenly rang out and the highwayman who had been drawing his
pistol from its holster froze. The pistol fell to the ground as he
clutched at his chest with the other hand, eyes wide in amazement.

James
drew both of his pistols without hesitation and turned to search out
the others under the tree. Two of them grabbed up muskets and seemed
to be prepared to rush down the hill at them. Aiming quickly, James
cocked and pulled the trigger on one of the pistols, sending the
rifled ball directly at the two going for their guns. At that
distance, there was no chance of hitting anything, but it gave Teresa
time to holster her pistol and withdraw and cock the rifle.

The
leader could no longer sit his horse and toppled to the ground, his
big sombrero
falling beside him. As the reins dropped to the ground, the horse
simply moved to the side of the road to munch on the grass growing
there.

Kneeing
their animals, the two rode past, quickly resuming their lope.

“I
could not let him shoot you, marido.”

“You
did right, my sweet. It is easier to stop such an attack before it
started
instead of trying to get out of it when the shooting started.”
He then reminded her to reload her pistol, while he did the same to
his.

They
reached the top of a rise and stopped, turning back to see what the
other robbers were doing. They had gathered around the dead body of
their leader and, while one led his horse away, the others squabbled
over his sombrero,
boots, and weapons.

The
hills dotted with rocks and huge boulders surrounded them but it did
not take long until they reached a pass giving them a view of low
hills and expanses of tall grass where livestock as well as some deer
and antelope grazed. It was also when they saw the first rancheria
since leaving the mission.

“How
much further do we need to travel to reach the mission, Señor​?”

The
emissary from the village grinned at the salutation, something
Europos
rarely gave him. “But a hands' width of the sun, honored Don
y Doña.” He
paused and added, “You are much closer to rancheros
where the honored ones will gladly shelter you for the night.”

Both
examined the gathering of what appeared to be five or six Tongva
families. As usual, the structures were made of wattle-and-daub,
generally open sides to take advantage of cool breezes and thatch
roofs to keep out the rare rain. While the children ran around naked,
the adults wore blue
cotton blouses, pants, and skirts. Three corrals held a few mules but
mainly donkeys. Hobbled goats, ever popular garbage eaters, roamed at
will and squealing piglets surrounded several large sows The few head
of cattle nearby wore the brand of Misión
San Gabriel.

James
and Teresa thanked the man for his offer of food, indicating they
wished to continue.

Mountains
towered
far to the north, white caps indicating snow had not yet melted from
the peaks. Some hills rose to the east and west but the land
generally rolled in gentle hills in front of them. As they continued,
more
cattle appeared, these having two different brands they assumed to
belong to the families owning the ranches.

They
soon came in sight of a large river and saw a small cluster of adobe
buildings surrounded by gardens, vineyards and sections of tilled
fields. Adobe
walls surrounded the houses but live willow brush fences kept out the
livestock roaming the area. Most of the workers appeared to be ending
the day, walking toward a small rancheria
downstream from the buildings.

“Welcome
to Rancho
Santiago de Santa Ana.
My name is José Antonio Yorba. What you see belongs to my families.”

“You
are the son of Don
José Antonio Yorba who was a Catalonian Volunteer during the Portolá
expedition?”

“You
know of my father?”

Teresa
chuckled. “Yes. In fact we traveled with him when he served under
Don
Pedro Fages and when he served at The Presidio
del Monte Rey.”

“Please
forgive me for making you sit out here, It is growing late and you
are most sincerely welcome to my home and to rest from your journey.
Please follow me.”

The
gates opened and several ranch workers rushed to take their animals.

“Please
just loosen their cinches. We will unburden and groom them.”

The
animals were led to the stables and Don
Tomas led them up onto the porch where a woman waited. “This is my
wife, Maria Cataina.” When he explained who their visitors were,
she smiled. “We have never met but you must know my father, José
Maria Verdugo. He came with Captain Rivera.”

She
led them into a large sala
and told them dinner would soon be ready. “We must certainly talk
during the meal. But, if you will excuse me, I must see to the
preparation of the food.”

Don
José walked with them back to the stables and chatted while they
cared for their animals. He was taken aback when they indicated their
determination to sleep in the stables with their animals. “Please,
Don
José, do not be insulted. We have become accustomed to the comfort
of fresh straw under our
sleeping blankets and the animals rest easy with our presence.”

Discussion
was lively during the meal about
the brief time they lived in Monte
Rey.
The Yorbas intently listened as James and Teresa told them of their
voyage to date.

“It
pains me greatly to see that nothing has been done to repair the
damage to Misión
San Juan Capistrano,
“Don
José
said. “The reverend father is too infirm and no effort has been
made to give him an assistant. The escolta
has been replaced but the new corporal does little to keep the
disciples in their place.”

They
finished dinner and Don
José led James out onto the porch. They both watched as riders came
at a gallop to the gate and then reined to a stop in front of them.
Three men and their women leaped from their mounts

“Don
José, we have been informed that you have most important guests.”

José
Antonio introduced them to Pablo, Pedro, and Antonio Peralta as those
who shared the rancho
with him. He quickly explained that their father had come to
California with Governor de
Anza and grew up at the Presidio
del San Francisco.
Their wives quickly excused themselves to go inside to meet Teresa
Marta.

If
James and Teresa planned on sleeping that night, their plans came to
an abrupt end. The ranchers were not about to let a chance for a
celebration go by. A big fire was lit in a stone pit and the hind
quarter of a steer soon turned on a spit over it. Barrels of beer
were brought from a store room along with several small kegs of wine.

Antonio
brought a guitar and soon led four of the ranch hands in gay music.

A
pale half moon sailed through the velvet black sky studded with
sparkling diamonds. Only when la
estrella de la mañana
appeared brightly in the sky aglow with the rising sun did the
celebrants decide to depart, returning to their nearby ranches. James
and Teresa found their bedrolls in the stables, quickly dropping off
to sleep.

*****

José
Antonio gave them a tour of the huge ranch after they had partaken of
a midday light meal. That the Californios
shared their land with Gentiles was somewhat of a surprise. “They
watch over our livestock and their small rancherias
are not burdensome. They have lived here for beyond memory and often
warn us when heavy rains are due.”

“One
of their elders often tells when the turtle that supports the world
is going to move,” Cataina explained. “There is nothing we can
do, of course.” She then added that the same elder had twice
foretold periods when no rain would fall and the streams and rivers
come close to drying up.

“This
is indeed a blessed land.”

“Yes,
my husband,” Teresa said as the sat tight against Jame's side atop
a hill overlooking the ranchos
and the land spreading out before them. “It is good to see our
fellownonativos
living peacefully with los
indios.”

“Will
that be the case when the government's plan of secularizing the
missions comes to pass?”

Teresa
had no more of an answer than her husband.

They
left early the next morning and soon came in sight of Misión
San Gabriel Arcángel,
the fourth mission founded by the reverend Father Serra. Even from
several miles away they saw the forbidding hedge of prickly pear
cactus protecting the gardens and vineyards from Gentiles and roaming
herds of livestock. They drew nearer and smiled at the abundance in
the gardens;
trees of oranges, figs, pomegranates, peaches, apples, limes, pears
and citrons. The vineyards covered several hectares of sloping
hillside near the massive stone structure of the church.

“Welcome
to La
Misión del Santo Príncipe El Arcángel, San Gabriel de Los
Temblores,” the
friar with a stern mien said to them. “You have traveled far.”

“No,
Reverend Father Zalvidea. Only from the Yorba rancho
this morning.”

“You
know me, Señor?”

“Yes,
reverend father. We met before when I last came here several years
ago. I am James Beadle, the son of Timothy Beadle and this is my
wife, Teresa Marta, the daughter of Jaimenacho, The Carpenter.”

The
friar's face broke into an almost-smile, something that the disciples
of the mission would be surprised to see. Padre
Zalvidea was renowned as being a stern disciplinarian.

“Welcome,
my children. Come. I will show you where to stable your animals and
then a cell where you may rest from your journey.” He did not
appear surprised when they explained their desire to bed down with
the animals.

They
passed a series of adobe
dwellings in the inner courtyard and Padre
Zalvidea told them they were housing for the soldiers of the escolta.
He explained that the biggest one belonged to the sergeant of the
guard, José Maria Pico and his wife, Maria Estaquia, who had come to
California with the de
Anza expedition. Several children played in the area and they saw
two young soldiers the friar told them were sons of the sergeant who
had enlisted in the guard. “They were given dispensation to remain
here as our lands and herds are so extensive that we need more than
just the normal five soldiers.”

The
tower holding six bells, one of them the biggest they had ever seen,
was not the original, that having been felled by the great earthquake
of 1812. Padre
Zalvidea led them inside the chapel as the bell rang the call to
midday prayers. The massive altar dominated the wall, five big
figures surrounding Christ on His Cross. They had learned that the
mission had been built in the form of a cathedral in Cordoba, Spain.

Padre
Boscana
conducted the rite while Padres
Boscana
and Zalvidea scourged
themselves at the altar dedicated to la
Virgin de Guadalupe.
The one missing friar was Father Prefect Sanchez and nothing had been
said about his whereabouts.

They
later learned he was supervising work at an Asistencia
being built to the east in an area called San
Bernardino.
The Gentiles there had begged for one and the prefect was doing what
he could to provide it for them.

There
was no doubt about their next destination, la
Puebla de Nuestra Señora de los Angeles.
Only nine miles from the mission, they rode into the central plaza
well before the tenth hour of the day. La
Iglesia de la Placita
dominated the west side of the town square, surrounded by a
combination of adobe
and wattle-and-daub buildings. They had been told there were now
nearly seven hundred residents, making it one of the largest in the
territory.

They
had barely dismounted in front of the church when a robustly built
man rushed up to them, removing his sombrero
to wipe the sweat of his exercise from his face dominated with a
large mustache. “May I welcome you to los
Angeles.
I am Fernando Buelna, el
Alcalde.”

They
introduced themselves and the mayor led them to a small street on the
northeast corner of the square. Several cantinas
offered food and drink and Buelna led them to one directly across
from a structure he proudly pointed out as being the palacio
del pueblo.
He touted the quality of the beer, indicated the proprietor was his
cousin. “Don
Teodoro Arellanescomes
here quite frequently to enjoy a pint when visiting.”

They
both knew the son of Captain Manuel, an artillery office of note who
had served at San
Francisco as
well as Monte
Rey.
It was also clear that Buelna was a fawning civil servant with little
skill beyond his literacy. To put him in his place, Teresa picked up
a pamphlet from a nearby table and scanned it, telling James some of
the tidbits it contained of local import. The mayor gaped at her in
disbelief. A woman who could read? Impossible.

They
knew several ranchos
were located not far from the village and the mayor quickly drew a
map of the area showing each. After studying it, they decided to
visit in a circle, going south and then up the coast before turning
inland along the hills to where the river flowed south from the
valley of Misión
San Fernando.

Their
first stop was at Rancho
San Antonio
which belonged to Corporal Antonio Maria Lugo the son of Francisco
Salvador who had escorted pobladores
for the founding of Los
Angeles.
As he had at one time been assigned to el
Presidio del Monte Rey,
he was well acquainted the James and Teresa, asking after the welfare
of their parents.

Their
next stop was Rancho
los Nietos
– The Grandchildren – which has been granted to Sergeant Manuel
Nieto, a retired leatherjacket soldier. He only knew of them and
their parents but welcomed them warmly, freely sharing his views of
the Mexican government, the governor, and what he saw as the future
of the territory.

They
next visited el
Rancho Rincon de los Bueyes
– The Corner of Oxen – granted to Bernardo Higuera and Cornelio
Lopez by Governor de
Sola for their father's service as alcalde
of los
Angeles
in 1800. They readily noted that Higuera and Lopez did not see
eye-to-eye and wondered how much longer their partnership would
endure. Don
Bernardo and his wife, Maria del
Rosario Palomares, greeted them warmly and openly told of their views
of the current government. “A deep rift is forming between the
north and south,” Don
Bernardo told them. “Many here feel that los
Angeles
should be the capitol of the territory and some have even written to
Don
Carlos Carrillo begging that Governor Echeandia be replaced by
someone more suited to govern.” He also expressed the strong belief
that the missions had outlived their usefulness. “The ranchos
provide everything our society needs. It is time for the friars to
step aside and let los
Indios
fend for themselves.”

Rancho
San Pedro
was one of the oldest land grants, given by Governor Fages to
Sergeant Juan José Dominguez, a leatherjacket soldier under Captain
Rivera who was with the Portolá Expedition. As he had always served
in the south, Manuel Dominguez had never met James or their parents.
But, like all Californios,
he knew who they were.

James
and Teresa spent an entire afternoon visiting the harbor of San
Pedro.
There were no piers but the depth of el
Rio Porculina
allowed brigs and schooners to drop anchor and take on supplies and
goods by boats from the banks. In many cases, bales of hides off the
cliffs to be gathered together for the next trading vessel.

A
very crude pueblo
had
formed, a few adobe
buildings but most constructed of wattle-and-daub. The most
substantial structure turned out to be a large cantina
to serve spirits to visiting sailors. Much to James shame, a number
of ladies served the food and drink, wearing most suggestive clothing
to advertise their willingness to serve something else for a fee.

Teresa
laughed it out, adding, “It is the same all over the world,
according to Mateo. I am certain the friars are outraged but the
authorities turn the other way as the owner of the establishment
certainly shares his gains with them.”

It
took less than an hour to reach a broad basin in the steep hills
covered with tall, green trees. Laurels, wild rose, wild grape,
prickly pear, and a wide variety of other plants and grasses
profusely grew in the basin and on hillsides.

The
rancho
buildings were the most insubstantial they had seen to date. However,
knowing a bit of the ranch's history, they were not surprised. It had
originally been part of Rancho
San Pedro.
After Dolores Sepúlveda had been killed in the Chumash rebellion at
la
Purisima,
the two families quarreled over who had the rights to it. At the
present time, Don
Juan
Capistrano Sepúlveda claimed it and had a mayordomo
supervise the ranch hands looking over the herds of cattle and
animals.

The
mayordomo,
a Mestizo
was in awe of the visitors, very few nonativos
ever visiting the ranch. Only when James assured him that he too was
Mestizo
and Teresa was full-blooded India
that he opened up.

“The
dueño
does not mistreat us, Señor.
It is just that he expects much of us and gives little in return. As
you see, we live as our ancestors and gain much of our food from the
sea. Out gardens provide some vegetables and those few fruit trees
give us sweets for our atole.”
When asked his thoughts of secularizing the missions, the man's face
grew dark, eyes squinting as he sought the proper words.

“It
will be a very big mistake, honored Señor
y Señora
My cousins are not ready to perform the many tasks needed to do what
the fathers have shown them.” After a pause and looking around to
see no one was listening, he softly added, “And the nonativos
are eager to take the land and leave the disciples with nothing but
having to work for them as peones.”

It
was growing late, the sun nearing the horizon. They were offered a
hut to sleep in but found a place where the animals could graze while
they laid their bedroll on the sandy ground. They quickly started a
fire of driftwood and made dinner from food carried in their saddle
bags. A long-eared hare provided by the ranch hands turned on the
spit along with two quail.

An
elderly man started telling tales to the youth of the camp and the
two visitors listened, enjoying stories from the Tongva and Chumash
who lived in the area for untold ages.
He even told of once, many years before, watching a big boat land on
the shore of the basin, men wearing strange clothing and speaking a
strange language coming ashore to gather water and trade for fresh
food. He even described the colored cloth flying atop the tallest
tree and James recognized it as being English from drawings in his
father's journal. Was it his father's?

They
traveled a great distance the next day along the shore as they saw no
roads or trails. The low dunes began to turn to palisades so they
climbed to the top to continue following the coast toward some rough
hills. They passed several small rancherias
of Chumash, many working on their tomols
while others cast their nets further out to sea. Following the
directions they gave, the two continued north, finding a narrow way
with a lightly travel trail. They reached their goal, Rancho
Topanga Malibu Sequit
by the fifth hour of the afternoon.

Much
to their surprise, the main building was a substantial structure of
sun-baked brick with a red tiled roof. Several of the outbuildings
were similarly built and the gardens had thick hedges intermixed with
prickly pear cacti. A small pond provided water for the livestock and
water was piped to a fountain in the inner courtyard by ceramic
pipes, very much like the zanjas
of the missions.

“My
name is José Bartomolé Tapia. My father, Alférez
Felipe Santiago, was a member of the de
Anza expedition. Governor Arrillaga granted me this land upon my
father's death for the family to live upon.”

While
they knew of Don
José's father, they had never become acquainted with him. He, in
turn, knew of their parents, but had never met them. While not spoken
of openly, James and Teresa sensed a withdrawal on the part of their
host and his wife, Juana Florina. They had little doubt that is was
due to the visitor's parentage being impure unlike theirs being
Criollo.
They were shown all the proper courtesies to include an offer of a
bedroom but seemed somewhat relieved when James and Teresa expressed
their desire to bed down with the animals.

Don
José joined them and talked of the ranch and his family while the
visitors unburdened their animals and laid their bedrolls in the
adjacent stall. He only left when they expressed their desire to
clean the dust from the road before joining him for the evening meal.

Discussion
was lively during the meal as they were joined by Tiburcio and his
wife, Maria Antonia, the daughter of another Criollo family. Tiburcio
was a member of the Junta
de Fomento,
the council formed to further the interests of California. He was
clearly a man of political ambitions and asked many questions about
the people and activities in Monte
Rey.

They,
in return, received confirmation of the general feelings of those
living in the south that Monte
Rey
should no longer be the capitol of the territory and that many
complaints had been sent to Mexico about Governor Echeandia and his
inability to show strength in governance.

“He
makes decisions at will about minor things but has not the ability to
come to firm conclusions about things of major import,” Tiburcio
announced. “There are many in the ayuntamiento
who cannot respect him.”

James
sighed. “Yes, we are experiencing the same. We have become
accustomed to officers with strength of will and governors who seek
the best for this land. Not themselves.” He went on to mention the
condition of The King's Highway and its lack of maintenance. “None
of the previous governors would have ever let that happen.”

“This
land reeks of discontent.”

James
nodded, holding Teresa tighter in their bedroll. “Will the
unthinkable happen, mi
carida?
A rebellion?”

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Welcome!

I'm starting this blog to share some of the things I've learned while conducting research for Father Serra's Legacy. The first two novels should be released in 2012 and maybe even the third.In any case, I hope you all enjoy reading these as much as I did learning about them.As always, comments recommended.